To Hell & Back
by Juliann
Summary: Hunter attempts to save McCall from an addiction, taking them both through a journey neither would forget.


Sergeant Rick Hunter watched his partner's hands twitch nervously while her knees bounced up in down in the darkness that surrounded them. At 4:20 a.m. on the third day of surveillance, the typical graveyard shift lack-of-sleep effect was getting to both of them.  
  
"McCall, will you stop fidgeting?" he asked her with annoyance.   
  
Dee Dee McCall's dark eyes glared at him through the darkness from her side in the passenger seat. She couldn't sit still.  
  
"I can't help it, Hunter," she whined. "I just can't get comfortable." He watched her move her neck from side to side, and then her left hand reached up underneath her dark hair as she massaged her own neck. A slight moan of discomfort escaped her lips.  
  
Hunter rolled his eyes and then handed her his infrared binoculars. "C'mere, McCall," he ordered her, watching her scoot her body closer to him. They met halfway, with McCall moving forward slightly and Hunter edging his way behind her, pressing his back to the seat. "You keep an eye out for Lallemand and I'll take care of this," he said.  
  
He rested his fingertips on her shoulders while his thumbs roamed under her soft hair where he touched the warm, soft skin on the back of her neck. He grimaced when his thumb brushed against the long, thin jagged scar that went from the base of her skull to an area just above her shoulder blades.  
  
Memories of four months ago when he found her lying on the floor of her living room with a single gunshot wound to her spine flooded back to him. At first, he thought she was dead, but a few hours later, he got the second-worst news he could have imagined: his partner was paralyzed from the neck down.  
  
But he knew in his heart she would be okay. It was one of those things that he instinctively knew in his gut that he could never explain. The doctor removed the bullet lodged in her vertebrae and she had come back to him. And the scar he could feel was a constant reminder of how close he had come to losing her.  
  
He lightly massaged the back of her neck from the base of her skull down to her shoulders, feeling the tightness in her muscles begin to slowly disappear. Despite everything she had gone through, McCall told him she was still occasionally plagued with severe pain as a result of the shooting and subsequent surgery. And tonight, it was happening again.  
  
Her moan of delight brought him out of his recollection. "Ohhh, that feels so good," she whispered to him. A lighthearted chuckle erupted from his mouth at her words.  
  
"Wait McCall, let me turn on my tape recorder here and then you say that again," he teased. "I'll play it at briefing and tell them it's from a stakeout at the Hotel Exotica." He could almost see her look of dismay in the darkness in contrast to the big grin on his own mug.  
  
His comment earned him a smack on his knee as he continued to massage her neck. "That better?" he asked her.  
  
She shrugged her shoulders and moved away when he was finished. "Yeah, it feels a little better, thanks."   
  
"Did you ever ask the doctor about that?" he asked her. It concerned him that she was still in so much pain despite the fact she was given an all-clear to return to work two months earlier.  
  
"Actually, I have a follow-up appointment to see him next week." She seemed nonplussed, so he decided to drop the subject and checked his watch. Three more hours to go until 7:30 a.m. when Bob and Ron would relieve them, and at this rate, it was going to be a long 3 hours.  
  
***************  
  
McCall hated waiting rooms. Doctors' offices in general made her nervous, mostly because the only time she was ever in one, with the exception of her annual visit with Dr. Paxton, was as a result of being injured on the job. Memories of the rape two years ago and the most recent incident of being shot in the back four months earlier clouded her brain.  
  
She shook her dark head slightly to clear her head of the memories and then squeezed her eyes shut from the pain the action had caused. Feelings of knives being thrust into her head and spine quickly ensued, the pain radiating to her limbs. She could no longer stand the pain, as she had tried for two days not to take any of the pain medication prescribed to get rid of it. But the pain won the battle yet again.  
  
McCall fumbled through her purse and grabbed the orange-ish plastic bottle with the child-proof cap and quickly opened it, oblivious to the tremors in her hands and arms as she did so. She put the last three remaining pills into the palm of her hand and swallowed them with a gulp of water from the water cooler across the room.  
  
Weakly, she shuffled her way back to her seat and rested her aching head against the wall behind her. In a matter of minutes, she began to feel better, the warm feeling of being pain-free enveloping her in a welcoming embrace. Drowsiness accompanied by heavy eyelids followed, until the receptionist calling her name brought her out of her oblivion.  
  
She found herself sitting on the edge of the exam table ten minutes later, thankful they had not made her take off her clothes. She swung her legs freely like a little kid, as she looked around the small room in wait for Dr. Lee.  
  
McCall smiled when the knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Dr. Lee, the short oriental man who had saved her life. She rewarded him with a bright smile.  
  
She answered his questions and performed the tasks as requested of her. "Squeeze this, flex this, move this for me, follow the light," and other easy commands.   
  
Dr. Lee made some notes on her chart and then read the comments on her chart that she had dictated to the nurse who had preceded his visit. "So, Dee Dee, tell me about this pain you've been having."  
  
McCall grimaced. "It's weird. Some days I won't have any at all, and other days it's so bad I can barely move," she told him.   
  
"Where is it?" he asked, growing concerned. Her tests and motor skills were perfect. Pain should no longer be an issue for her.  
  
"It's usually in the back of my head . . . like a really bad headache," she explained. "The pain goes clear down my back and just spreads everywhere, like fire."  
  
"And how long does it last?" he questioned.  
  
"It lasts until I take something for it. But the medicine doesn't seem to be helping any more," she said with a frown.  
  
"What are you taking?" he asked.  
  
"What you prescribed when you released me," she told him, reaching for her purse and digging through it until she came up with the now-empty orange bottle. She handed it to him and watched him frown as he read the label.  
  
"Vicodin?" he acknowledged. "Dee Dee, this was just filled last week and there are no pills left. How many are you taking?"  
  
"It depends on how bad the pain is," she explained in earnest. "Usually three will do the trick."  
  
"Dee Dee, I prescribed one tablet every 6 hours for pain and no more than 4 tablets a day. You're taking three times that amount," he told her. Dr. Lee glanced at her petite frame quickly and then leafed through her chart again. "And at your weight, three of those should knock you on your ass," he told her. "You've lost weight since I saw you last."  
  
McCall lowered her eyes. "Don't you think I know that? That's why I just don't understand. The pain is so bad sometimes, I can't stand it. And I can't let it interfere with my job any more than it has. What's wrong with me?"  
  
Dr. Lee heaved a sigh of concern. His hesitation made her heart beat faster. "I want you to see an orthopedic specialist and maybe even a neurologist," he finally said. "Sit here and wait until I can see how soon I can get you in for an appointment. The guy I have in mind is a colleague who went through medical school with me. He owes me a few favors," he told her.  
  
About 10 minutes later, Dr. Lee returned with a two pieces of paper and handed them to her. "In two weeks, I want you to see Dr. Cavanaugh. That's the soonest I can get you in. I'll forward your chart and everything else to him," he informed her. "You know, if the pain is that bad, perhaps I should take you off duty again until we figure this out."  
  
McCall was stricken. No way. "No, I won't take any time off. I'm able to work through the pain most of the time, and I can't leave my partner again," she told him. "Really, it's okay."  
  
"Against my better judgement, this is one more prescripton for the Vicodin to get you through until you see him. But you are only to take one every six hours, you got it?"  
  
McCall simply nodded her head and jumped off the table. A smile spread across her face as she headed to her car. She would be okay now.  
  
******************  
  
"Hunter, how about stopping up here at this plaza," McCall said to him on their way from the courthouse. She was practically giddy, Hunter observed, and he chalked it up to being pleased with herself for putting Lallemand behind bars. Surveillance and exquisite police work paid off.  
  
"Why am I stopping up here?"  
  
"I need to get this prescription filled," she informed him, pulling a white piece of paper out of her purse. "I have to do it now before the store closes."  
  
Hunter glanced at his watch and shook his head. They'd be late for briefing. He swerved the Monaco into the parking lot and settled into his seat as she scrambled out of the passenger side. "I'll tell him to hurry," she said to him through the open window, giving him her best smile, the one that she knew would bring her into his good graces.  
  
Ten minutes later, she bounded back to the car with a small white bag in one hand and a container of bottled water in the other. While Hunter headed the car back into traffic, she opened the bottle, shook some pills into her hand and then swallowed them with a water chaser.  
  
"Hey, McCall . . . what are you taking?"  
  
"Just something the doctor prescribed today for the pain I've been having."  
  
Hunter grabbed the bottle from her amidst her squeal of protest and read the label. "Vicodin?" he asked her, his brows furrowing. "This says one every six hours, and I know you had at least three or four in your hand," Hunter accused.  
  
Her dark eyes narrowed as she grabbed the bottle back from him. "Yeah, well, one just doesn't do it for me," she replied angrily. "You take a bullet in your back and see how good you feel."  
  
Hunter winced at her words. The feelings of guilt creeped back upon him, blaming himself for her pain. His head knew it wasn't his fault she had been shot, but his heart still felt guilty.  
  
"What did the doctor say, anyway?"  
  
"He made an appointment for me to see a specialist. Maybe even a neurologist if this guy dosn't help me," she said, a tone of remorse in her voice. "Y'know, Hunter, I'd give anything to feel normal again."  
  
*****************  
  
McCall silently begged the scalding hot water to seep through to her muscles in an attempt to lessen the pain. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes as the throbbing slowly made its way to her extremities.  
  
She stepped out of the bath tub and wrapped a towel around herself, tucking the end in the front, not bothering to dry her soaking wet hair. She trudged through the bedroom downstairs to her living room and reached for her purse, digging through it until she found what she wanted.  
  
She stared at the medicine bottle, realizing there were only three pills left. And she had a week to go until she saw Dr. Cavanaugh. She dumped the remainder into the palm of her hand and chased it with a glass of orange juice.  
  
A thumping at her front door startled her.  
  
"Who is it?" she called.  
  
"Who do ya think?" Hunter responded. She opened the door and looked into the face of her fuming partner.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, unable to mask his irritation with her as he took in her appearance. "We're due in court in 30 minutes."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Whaddya mean, for what? Lallemand . . . you remember him? The guy we spent almost a week staking out on night shift? His prelim is this morning."  
  
She closed her eyes momentarily, the realization that she hadn't remembered the importance of the day dawning on her. "God, Hunter, I'm sorry. I totally forgot," she said, turning around and wincing in pain as she tried to sit on her couch.  
  
It didn't go unnoticed by Hunter. "Hey, McCall, are you okay?" he asked, growing concerned. Her thin shoulders were bare above the large bath towel that was wrapped around her. Her dark hair was still dripping, uncombed.  
  
"I'm just not feeling well today, that's all," she said.   
  
Hunter frowned. "Your back again?"  
  
"My back? Hell, it's everything." He watched her shudder. "I can hardly move. I spent all morning soaking in my bath tub."  
  
"Yeah, I can see that." His sympathy now outweighed his anger. "Tell ya what . . . take your time getting around. I'll do the prelim myself."  
  
"Hunter, I'm so sorry," she said again, trying earnestly to apologize. "The medicine should kick in any minute, so I'll be down at the precinct by the time you get back."  
  
"Yeah, well, take it easy." And with that, he turned and closed the door.  
  
*****************  
  
"This is Dee Dee McCall. I need a refill on the prescription Dr. Lee gave me last week." She tapped her desk nervously with her ballpoint pen as the receptionist put her on hold.   
  
"I'm sorry Ms. McCall. Dr. Lee said he won't refill the Vicodin for you. He has turned your case and your files over to Dr. Cavanaugh. You'll need to call him for a refill."  
  
McCall cursed under her breath. "Fine. Can you give me Dr. Cavanaugh's number?" she asked impatiently. She jotted down the telephone number and then called the doctor she had never met.  
  
"I'll speak with Dr. Cavanaugh and get back to you," the second receptionist told her.   
  
"When?"   
  
"I'm not sure, Ms. McCall. Probably not until tomorrow afternoon because Dr. Cavanaugh is in surgery all day today. I'm not expecting him into the office until tomorrow morning when he is scheduled to see patients."  
  
McCall hung up the phone in exasperation. She'd have to wait.  
  
**************  
  
3 a.m.  
  
McCall awoke to massive waves of pain crashing through her body. Tremors in her hands and feet made it difficult for her to ambulate. Feelings of drunken confusion deflated her thinking skills as she wandered aimlessly through the house.  
  
After dumping the contents of her purse onto the floor, she realized her medication was gone. Pain wracked her body. She doubled over, after attempting to crawl back up the stairs to her bed. Perhaps unconsciousness would take away some of the pain, she thought, not caring she was lying in her own stairwell in the middle of the night.  
  
As she crouched in a ball on the landing, the stairs now looking as if they were never-ending, she rationalized with herself to stay where she was. The pain was too excruciating to withstand the effort it would take to mount them.  
  
**************  
  
7:10 a.m.  
  
Hunter pulled up to McCall's house. Trudging up the walkway, he glanced at his watch, realizing he was about 20 minutes early. They were due to take a road trip to Ojai that morning, so he offered to pick her up on the way.  
  
After ringing the doorbell -- and no answer from McCall -- he glanced at his watch again. He was early, he figured, and perhaps she was still getting ready and didn't hear him. Therefore, it seemed logical to him to open up the door with the key McCall had given him years ago.  
  
He found her, curled in a ball on her landing, wearing only a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt. He rushed over to her, and when he touched her in an attempt to wake her, he barely received a response. Her eyes were open to mere slits, partially rolled back in her head.  
  
"McCall, tell me what's wrong," he ordered.  
  
She moaned in pain. "It hurts so bad," she whispered. "Rick, I can't move."   
  
He did the first thing he thought of ... he picked her up into his arms -- and she yelped in pain in response.  
  
"You'll be okay, Dee Dee," he murmured into her ear as he carried her to the car. Her body was rigid, yet light in his arms, and he could feel the tremors of pain convulse through her thin frame.   
  
He watched her through the rearview mirror as she lay on the back seat. He winced when he heard her moans of pain. In the time it took him to dodge traffic on the way to the nearest hospital, her quiet moans had escalated into almost piercing screams, as if she was being tortured.  
  
With a screech of burning rubber, he skidded the '76 Dodge into a dead stop in front of the Emergency Room entrance. He scooped her up into his arms yet again, and quickly carried her straight into an exam room. He was quickly pushed away into the hallway as they worked on McCall, who was only partially unconscious.   
  
After calling Charlie to inform him of the situation, he sat down on a chair outside the room, leaning his head against the cinderblock wall behind him. Shortly afterward, he was greeted by the ER physician.  
  
"You're the one who brought the patient in?" he asked.  
  
Hunter grunted an affirmative. "What's wrong with her, doc?"  
  
"We're not sure. Now, you said she had sustained an injury a few months ago?"  
  
"Yeah. She was shot in the back about five months ago. She was temporarily paralyzed from the neck down, but she returned to full duty about two months later. She told me the pain she's been having keeps getting worse."  
  
"I see." Hunter watched the middle-aged physician stroke his chin as he read more notes.  
  
"We called Dr. Lee, and he said Dr. Cavanaugh has her chart. So, we're waiting for his office to send them down until I can see what else to do."  
  
"I understand. Can I see her?"  
  
"Sure. They moved her to an observation room down the hall."  
  
Hunter trudged down the hall to the right, and saw his partner curled in a ball on the edge of her hospital bed, her hands tightly gripping the rails. She was still wearing the clothes she arrived in, and had an IV in her left hand. He stood next to her bed, grimacing as he heard her continuous wails of pain.  
  
McCall opened her eyes and grabbed his hand tightly, her legs beginning to thrash under the covers. "Please, Hunter, tell them to give me something. It hurts, please, make them. I'm dying. I'm going to die. Please, help me," she begged and pleaded.   
  
A nurse walked in and Hunter questioned her. "How come they haven't given her anything for pain? Can't they see she's in pain?" he demanded.  
  
"Sir, we can't give her anything until we receive her charts from Dr. Cavanaugh," the nurse tried to explain. McCall had heard enough. She practically leaped out of the bed, unconsciously pulling the IV out of her arm, blood now squirting from her arm in a thin red fountain. As she tried to open the door and run, Hunter grabbed her by the waist and held on to her.  
  
"Let me go! Don't touch me!" she yelled as Hunter held her down as if he was restraining a suspect. She was strong as she tried to squirm her way out of Hunter's embrace, kicking and thrashing all the more. The nurse, who stood transfixed in surprise, received the onslaught of Hunter's frustration.  
  
"Don't just stand there, get a doctor in here!" he barked. McCall continued her struggle for freedom. The tighter he held onto her, the louder she yelled.   
  
Seconds later, two doctors and three nurses arrived, assisting Hunter in getting her back to the bed. One nurse gave her a shot in one hip while the other jabbed her with another in the opposite hip. Hunter winced as McCall yelped again in pain.  
  
Slowly, McCall began to relax, her limbs no longer thrashing and her screams dying down to occasional low moans. The nurse seized the opportunity to insert a new IV while Hunter paced back and forth as the doctors conversed quietly, occasionally glancing at McCall.  
  
"May we speak to you outside, please?" the original doctor asked. Hunter followed them down the corridor to a small office.  
  
"How well do you know your partner?"  
  
"I'd like to think very well. We've been partners almost four years now. She's also my best friend."  
  
"Sergeant Hunter, have you witnessed how much medication your partner has been taking for her alleged pain?"  
  
Hunter's eyes narrowed. "Alleged pain? You can see for yourselves how much pain she's in. It's making her crazy! I've never seen her like this," he stammered.  
  
"Sergeant, we're not saying she's not in pain. In her mind, her pain is very real. However, we are thinking that her pain is not from her injury, rather it is probably early signs of withdrawal from the narcotics she has been taking."  
  
Stunned, Hunter didn't know what to say. After a brief lapse of comment, Hunter found his voice. "Are you saying my partner is addicted to narcotics?"  
  
"Well, we're not certain, but we are weighing on that possiblity a lot more heavily as things progress. From the records we have received, she has been taking triple or quadruple the recommended dosage since her injury. Most likely, she took the recommended amount for a while when her pain was real . . . but when she stopped taking it, the pain would return, and over time, it took more and more Vicodin to take that pain away. Pain is one of the first signs of withdrawal, and she most likely mistook it for being an injury-related pain."  
  
They stopped, allowing him to suck it in.  
  
"Sergeant Hunter, your partner is fully recovered from the shooting. Two specialists and two surgeons have confirmed those findings. Your partner is addicted to narcotics."  
  
Hunter tried to digest what was being said. "What now?"  
  
"We're going to run a few more tests, and if our theory proves correct after conferring with Drs. Lee and Cavanaugh, we'll probably have to involuntarily admit her to drug rehab."  
  
Hunter's brows furrowed. Rehab?   
  
"No," Hunter finally responded.  
  
The doctors eyed him questioningly. "Sergeant, we understand how you must feel. I'm sure this is a shock, but your partner is a very ill woman. She needs help."  
  
Realization continued to dawn on the tall sergeant.  
  
"How long is she gonna be out of it?" Hunter asked.   
  
"Well, she was pretty worked up, and we gave her a pretty good dose of Haldol to calm her down. I'd say she'll probably be out of commission for at least another couple of hours."  
  
"Okay. I'll be back in two hours." Hunter strode out of the hospital on a one-way trip back to McCall's house.   
  
*****************  
  
"You aren't serious, are you Hunter?" Charlie demanded over the phone. Hunter had McCall's cordless telephone at his ear as he rifled through her drawers. He threw odds and ends of clothing into a suitcase: jeans, shirts, socks, underwear, and more. Normally, he would have reveled in sorting through her lacy underthings, but today was a totally different ballgame. He took his journey to the bathroom, where instead of trying to decide which toiletries she would want, used his arm to scoop all of it into a bag.  
  
"Yes, I am serious. Charlie, this wasn't her fault. I'll take care of her. We can't send her to rehab and you know it."  
  
Hunter knew he was winning the argument as soon as he heard Charlie's hesitation.  
  
"Lookit Charlie, I helped detox a buddy of mine when I was in the Marine Corps. It's tough but I'll handle her."  
  
"Where are you gonna go?"  
  
"To my uncle's cabin at Big Bear."  
  
"Fine. Make sure you check in and let me know how she's doing. And Hunter?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good luck."  
  
Hunter hung up the phone. He was going to need a helluva lot more than luck.  
  
***************  
  
Following a marathon trip through his own house to gather what he needed, and a ten-minute flash through the nearest grocery store, Hunter stuffed the trunk of the '76 Dodge with his wares and proceeded back to the hospital.  
  
He returned to the room where he had left McCall, finding her asleep, an occasional whimper coming from her mouth as she tossed and turned, her body as tense as a bow string. The toothpick he was chewing was not helping his own angst as he contemplated how on earth he was going to get her from the hospital to Big Bear. He was afraid to bet that the sedative would last the two-hour trip.  
  
"Sergeant?" a familiar voice called to him. Hunter turned and went out into the hallway to face the ER physician who was at the moment, in charge of McCall.  
  
"I need a next of kin to sign some papers to have her admitted," he told Hunter. "Is there someone we can contact?"  
  
Hunter's exasperation got the best of him. "She has none. Her husband is deceased and her mother is on a cruise," he said, lying about the second half of the sentence. If McCall's mother would see her in this state, it would crush her. "And you're not admitting her . . . I'm taking her outta here."  
  
"You can't do that, Sergeant."  
  
"The hell I can't." Hunter pulled a thick business-sized envelope from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to the doctor. "You'll see from this document that I am Sergeant McCall's durable power of attorney. I am authorized to act on her behalf when she is unable to," he said, and glancing through the glass at the unconscious McCall, he added, "and she is obviously unable to."  
  
The doctor was not pleased. "Sergeant, your partner needs help. Taking her home isn't going to fix this," he tried to explain. "We had to sedate her again just before you got here."  
  
"I'm not taking her home. I'm gonna help her, don't you worry."   
  
"Then you'll have to sign her out AMA."  
  
Hunter grabbed McCall's chart out of the bin hanging on the wall next to the door of her room and shoved at the doctor's chest. "Here. Show me where to sign."  
  
****************  
  
Hunter gathered McCall's purse and a few other belongings from her hospital room while the nurse removed the IV. He took her things to the car and then returned to find the other doctor, the younger one, standing near McCall's bed.  
  
"I heard you're not admitting her," he accused.  
  
"Yep. You heard right."  
  
"You do understand that once the Haldol wears off, she's gonna be pretty tough to handle. She put up a helluva fight about 30 minutes ago."  
  
"Don't worry about her. I can handle her, believe me."  
  
The doctor handed Hunter a card. "My pager and cell phone numbers are on the back. If you run into any complications, let me know."  
  
Hunter took the card and thrust it into his pocket. "No offense doc, and I appreciate it and all, but I hope I won't need to call you."  
  
"I hope not, either. Can I ask why you're not going to let this up to a professional? Do you realize what the next few days are going to be like?"  
  
Hunter looked at him blankly. "I don't really have a choice. If she would go to a rehab program, especially involuntarily, it would be on her permanent record as a police officer," he explained. "Her career would suffer, and if it hadn't been for the profession in the first place, none of this would have happened. I can't let that happen to her."  
  
"Well, I admire your dedication. Good luck."  
  
McCall's eyes were open now, dull and unfocused. "Hunter?" she mumbled.  
  
"Let's go, McCall." He helped her get out of the bed and caught her as her knees buckled. He picked her up easily, feeling her arms go around his neck, grasping him tightly as she whimpered in pain again.   
  
He laid her down in the back seat and covered her with a blanket. She closed her eyes, falling again into a restless sleep. Hunter got into the driver's seat, and after thinking a moment, got back out of the car and opened the back door again. She was on her back, her left arm resting above her head, her knees bent. "Sorry about this McCall, but I can't chance it."  
  
And with that, he snapped one handcuff around her left wrist, and its twin to the door handle. She mumbled something incoherent as he got back into the car.  
  
He knew what was in store, and he hoped he had the inner strength to get her through it.  
  
********************  
  
Hunter drove in silence. They were 30 minutes from the cabin and McCall continued her restless, pained slumber. Cries of pain intermittently escaped her lips, and every one sliced through his heart. He silently hoped he'd get the car parked and McCall's handcuffs removed before she woke up.  
  
It was wishful thinking.  
  
"Hunter!" her voice called to him from the back seat. He heard her pulling on the door handle with her arm. He looked at her through the rear view mirror. She looked confused . . . and pissed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Where are we? Why am I handcuffed?" she asked. Her speech was slurred, as if she had been on an all-night banger.  
  
"You were in the hospital and you tried to make a run for it. So I'm taking you somewhere to get you better."  
  
"I'm not sick," she said.  
  
"Yeah you are."  
  
She continued to pull on the handcuffs. "Let me go," she ordered.  
  
"No."  
  
"Hunter! Let me go!"  
  
"No." He sighed with exasperation as she tried futiley to free herself. He pushed down on the accelerator. He couldn't get there too soon.  
  
****************  
  
"Pick up the pace, McCall," Hunter ordered as he followed her down the crushed stone driveway. He had his overnight bag slung over his shoulder and bags of groceries in his arms. McCall lumbered forward, carrying her toiletry bag and her own duffel. Every awkward, shuffling step she took was accompanied by a low groan of pain.  
  
He opened the cabin door and locked it behind them. She stood before him in sweatpants and a t-shirt, no makeup, her hair limp and bedraggled. Truth be told, she reminded him of a junkie.  
  
"Sit down," he ordered her. He watched her sit down on the couch and he took a seat on the coffee table facing her.  
  
"Do you know what's wrong with you? Why you were in the hospital?" he asked. He watched her try to remember.  
  
"Yeah. I was shot, you moron. And those damn doctors won't help me."  
  
"McCall, there is nothing physically wrong with you, except you're hooked on those pain pills you've been eating like candy."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
Hunter gazed into her eyes, staring back at him like inky depths of glass. The woman sitting before him was like a stranger to him.  
  
"Those doctors GAVE me those pills, Hunter," she began to reason. "I can kick this any time I want," she added with indigniation, crossing her thin arms over her chest. "I can stop anytime I want, and I will, as soon as they fix what's wrong with me."  
  
Now it was Hunter's turn. "Bullshit, McCall. If you can kick it, how come you keep taking more and more? And how come you're going through withdrawal right now? Huh?" His escalating voice threw her into a rage.  
  
"I'm not going through withdrawal, Hunter!" she screamed at him. "I'm in pain. Can't you see that? What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were my friend," she pleaded. She scrambled off the couch and stood in the middle of the room.   
  
"You of all people should know what I've been through," she said. "I almost died, dammit."  
  
Her words made him wince. "I know you've been through hell and back, McCall. And it certainly isn't fair. But I have to help you kick this, you got it?"  
  
"There's nothing to kick, Hunter." She paused and looked around the room. Quicker than a jackrabbit, she darted past him and toward the front door. She began to pull on the doorknob, and more furiously so when she realized it was locked.  
  
Hunter grabbed her by the waist, but not soon enough to prevent more harm. She shattered the door's glass window with her fist, trying to open the door from the other side. Blood coursed down her arm as Hunter grabbed her, finally fishing the handcuffs from his back pocket again and snapped them on her good hand, and snapping the other on his own wrist. She may be able to run, but there was no way she would be able to drag him with her.  
  
"I hate you, Hunter," she screamed at him as he held her close, trying to still her as he wrapped her hand with a towel to stop the bleeding.  
  
"Yeah, I know, but to know me is to love me, McCall," he retorted. He collapsed to the floor with her in his arms as she struggled to free herself from his grasp, cursing at him with a string of profanity he had never heard out of her mouth. Finally, after a good 15 minutes of physical struggle, she relented. She remained passive in his arms as he sat there, trying to figure out what to do next.  
  
**************  
  
Hunter filled another hot water bottle with the steaming water boiling on the old stove. After corking it and wrapping it in a soft towel, he quickly went to McCall's side. She was curled in a ball on the couch, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she cried softly into the pillow.  
  
"Here, let's trade," he told her as he gently pulled the slightly warm bottle from her grasp and replaced it with the hot one. He took a cool cloth from the bucket of clean, cold water on the floor and laid it on her forehead, trying to cool her off. Her frail body was drenched in sweat as she shook from the painful stomach cramps that plagued her.  
  
He had managed to get her clothes off of her and replaced them with clean ones, but that seemed to be futile as they ended up being drenched within the hour anyway.  
  
"Drink this," Hunter ordered, bringing a glass of ice water with a straw to her lips. She managed one sip and then turned her head away, refusing to look at him.  
  
She was still angry with him, he knew. Her pained gasps shook him to his core. He had been through this before, but he couldn't remember it being so painful to watch. Perhaps it was because his buddy at the time was as big as Hunter, or perhaps because he had some comrades to help him out. Perhaps it was because he loved her more. All he knew was that this was only the beginning.  
  
***************  
  
"I hate you for this, Hunter," McCall whimpered as she vomited into the bucket on the floor. She was now too weak to stand, and Hunter held one hand on her forehead to steady her and had the other around her waist, holding her tightly.  
  
"Don't fight it, Dee Dee," he told her as she retched again. He couldn't figure out for the life of him how she could be so sick when she wasn't taking anything in. Her body trembled in his grasp.   
  
"I'm gonna die," she cried as she fell against him. He helped her stretch out onto a clean sheet that he had draped onto the couch for her. Her skin had taken on an ashen color, and her eyes remained unfocused, her bloodless lips dry.   
  
"You're not going to die," Hunter told her gently as he stroked her cheek. "I won't let you."  
  
Before she could answer, she groaned and rolled to her side and began to throw up into the bucket again. Hunter held her dark, matted hair back from her face, blinking back unfamiliar tears as he watched her suffer.  
  
Tears rolled down her face as she choked, gasping for air as her body took over. "Help me," she whispered to him in a pleading voice. "Please, it's not fair," she pleaded. She turned her head to the bucket again as Hunter held the cool cloth to the back of her neck.   
  
The onslaught continued through the next 48 hours. He was dead tired, and he rubbed his eyes as he watched her sleep. It was 8 a.m., and she hadn't been sick in over an hour, and the violent tremors that racked her body seemed to have stopped. She was an absolute mess, her body worn out into a state of unconsciousness. Hunter prayed for the worst to be over.   
  
He went into the bedroom of the cabin and put clean sheets onto the bed, hoping he would be able to clean her up and let her rest.   
  
But it was wishful thinking as a blood curdling scream came from the living room where he had left her. He ran into the room and found her screaming at the top of her lungs, sitting on top of the back of the couch, her back pressed against the wall. Her body shook violently as her terror-filled eyes darted back and forth around the room.  
  
"Snakes!" she screamed at no one in particular. At first Hunter thought a garter snake had gotten into the cabin, but he quickly realized that she had begun to hallucinate.  
  
Between her dehydration, no food for days and withdrawal from the Vicodin, she was seeing snakes that did not exist. Hunter came up to her cautiously, afraid of frightening her further.  
  
"McCall, look at me. There aren't any snakes," he told her gently. She didn't look at him. In fact, he wasn't even sure she heard him.   
  
"Look! They're coming in," she said, her dark eyes moving at an alarming speed. "They're coming, they're coming, it's gonna bite me, they're gonna get me," she repeated over and over, her voice high and shrill.  
  
He remembered that there was probably only one thing that scared Dee Dee McCall to death, and it was snakes. He watched her scramble further up onto the back of the couch, beating on her own feet and arms at the creatures that didn't exist. "Get them off me, get them off me!"   
  
Hunter grabbed her from the couch and winced as he felt her fingernails dig into the back of his neck as she clutched him. "Oh God, they're going to get me," she wailed, burying her face into his neck.   
  
"There aren't any snakes," he told her over and over. "I've got you."   
  
He held her for at least an hour, slowly reassuring her that there were no snakes. She began to relax in his arms, a silent lucidity overtaking her dark eyes. He carried her into the bedroom and carefully stood her on her feet.  
  
"I'm going to draw a bath for you. Do you think you can handle that?" he asked. She nodded slowly, looking around for her things. He handed her the robe he had packed for her. "Get undressed while I get the water started," he instructed.  
  
He turned on the water, and after getting it to a temperature of his liking, put the cork in the bottom of the bathtub and opened up a purple bottle that he had taken from McCall's bathroom. He poured its contents under the running tap, smiling as he watched the bubbles froth, the scent of lavender filling the small room.  
  
He heard McCall enter, wrapped in her robe.   
  
"That looks heavenly," she said softly. Hunter cleared his throat. "Do you need help or can you manage?" he asked. She nodded her head and motioned for him to leave, signaling she wanted some privacy. "I'll be out here waiting for you," he said, still not entirely sure that the worst was over.  
  
A few minutes later he heard the water slosh, and he couldn't help but peek inside. She was reclined in the tub, bubbles up her neck as she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.  
  
He let her sit in there for about 30 minutes, and when he looked again, found her still reclined in the water, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest telling him she was relaxed and probably asleep.   
  
"Can you wash my hair for me?" McCall asked, startling him. "I'm so tired," she said, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt at modesty.  
  
Hunter took the shampoo from her bag and grabbed the hand-held shower nozzle, turning the water on again and wetting her head with the warm, clear water. After he worked her dark hair up into a lather, he rinsed it. A pink flush had overtaken her face.   
  
"Thanks," she said. "Now help me up." Hunter gulped. It was obvious that she was exhausted. He grabbed a big towel and wrapped it around her as she stood up, trying to avert his eyes. He wrapped her robe around her and then guided her back to the bedroom.   
  
He took a clean nightgown from her bag and brought it down over her head, thankful it was big enough to cover her and the towel together. She let the towel drop to the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with the towel.  
  
Hunter handed her a comb and watched her wince as she tried to get it through her snarled hair. Finally, she finished, her shoulder length hair curling at the ends as she looked at him expectantly. "Now what?" she asked.  
  
"Are you hungry?" he asked.  
  
She groaned. "Please, no food," she said, waving him off with a shaky hand. "I just want to sleep." Hunter pulled down the sheet for her and watched her curl underneath it. He covered her with another blanket and then pulled the drapes to create the illusion of darkness. Her soft breathing told him she had fallen into an exhausted sleep.  
  
With a heavy sigh, he stripped off his own clothes and strode into the bathroom, standing under the shower until the water ran cold. He shook his head as the events of the past few days unfolded in his brain. It seemed so unfair, yet he knew it had been the only way. He only hoped that the worst was over.  
  
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, putting on a pair of clean shorts and nothing else. She hadn't moved. He eyed the large bed -- the only bed -- and the clean, cool sheets beckoning him. "You owe me, McCall," he said with a smile as he stretched out on the far side of the bed, folding his arms behind his head and lacing his fingers together. And he, too, succumbed to slumber.  
  
*******************  
  
Hunter awoke with a startled feeling. He could hear crickets, and knew from the pitch blackness that it was in the middle of the night. He heard activity in the bathroom, and realized McCall was out of bed. He heard the toilet flush and then heard water running in the sink and the sound of her brushing her teeth.   
  
He looked at his watch. It was only 10 p.m. They had been asleep the entire day, and other than occasional tossing and turning from McCall, the last 12 hours had been uneventful.  
  
He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep as she ventured back into the bed. But his eyes snapped open when he felt her body curl up to his, her arm folding over his bare chest and her legs entwining with his. They had shared a bed in the past, but had never come so close to touching.  
  
"Dee Dee?" he whispered.  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked. He heard her yawn.   
  
"I'm fine, thanks." And then she propped herself onto her elbow and gazed into his eyes. Her own dark ones were bright as she brought her finger to his lips and traced them. She bent down and kissed him gently on the lips.   
  
Hunter snapped to attention. "What the hell?" he thought to himself as his eyes closed with a will of their own. She rolled on top of him, chest to chest, and kissed him again. His body involuntarily betrayed him as he wrapped his arms around her thin frame, gently stroking her back as she moved her kisses to his throat, specifically the spot that pulsed rapidly between his neck and collarbone.  
  
He groaned as she kissed him again, and this time, he took the initiative and rolled her to her back. He felt her arms wrap tightly around his neck as she returned his kiss fervently. All Hunter knew was that the woman beneath him was soft and pliant, the scent of lavender still on her skin and on her hair.   
  
Her soft moan of pleasure delighted him. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, more than he had ever imagined. He reached under her nightgown and tentatively cupped her breast, feeling the tender softness under his hand. Her eyes opened and she looked at him with bright eyes as he stroked her.  
  
"I missed you, Steve," she murmured against his mouth as he kissed her.  
  
Hunter's heart dropped as he pulled from her and looked into her face. And then he looked closer into her eyes. While her eyes were bright, they still had a faint remnant of glassiness. It dawned on him that she had no idea with whom she had initiated this sexual encounter, yet another side effect of withdrawal. Damn.   
  
"You're killing me, Dee Dee," he whispered to her. And how to not break her heart by telling her he wasn't Steve? He gave her one last kiss and then pulled away, pulling her nightgown down over her waist at an attempt at modesty. He couldn't take advantage of her, that was for sure.  
  
"What? Where are you going?" she asked, still breathless. He didn't have the heart to say he was headed for a cold shower.  
  
"I'm just tired," he told her, hoping she'd take the hint and still believe he was Steve. "How about tomorrow night? I have to get to work anyway, I'm late."  
  
Her bottom lip protruded in a pout. But she took the hint and curled onto her side, her eyes closing in sleep once more.  
  
Hunter turned and went into the living room to make a fire to ward off the mountain air's slight chill, but realized there was no wood to be found. "What a better way to ease sexual frustration than by doing my best imitation of Paul Bunyan," he chuckled to himself. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, turned on the outdoor spotlight and grabbed an axe from the shed. He chopped five cords of wood as he tried to get the image of his sexually frustrated partner out of his head.  
  
*****************  
  
The sound of knocking on the cabin's front door drew Hunter out of a light sleep, not sound enough to even classify it as a nap. It was around 9 p.m., and he had just laid down on the couch, hoping to get a few winks in before McCall went another round with the nightmares that kept her from restful slumber.  
  
Night terrors were, perhaps, a more appropriate term. Throughout the day and into the night, McCall had been plagued with seemingly real episodes playing through her head like movies. Tortured wails came from her lips as he found her crouched in a corner of the bedroom, seeing someone who wasn't there.  
  
"Please, don't," she begged, her arms flailing as she tried to warn off her imaginary attacker. While she never uttered a name, he knew it was Raoul Mariano who had chosen to haunt her dreams as she dealt with what Hunter hoped were the final symptoms of narcotics withdrawal.  
  
Surely, he prayed, God would have mercy on her and end her suffering soon.  
  
Even worse, as he carefully tried to approach her, to comfort her, his face turned into Mariano's in her eyes. It killed him to have to wrestle her down, holding her arms and legs down tightly so that she didn't hurt herself -- or him, for that matter -- as he unsuccessfully tried to reassure her it was only a dream.  
  
Hours upon hours throughout the day, he fought Raoul Mariano again and again. She had to be exhausted, he reasoned with himself. Her food intake had been minimal, actually nonexistent for the past four days. Sometimes he was able to get her to sip water or juice from a straw, but usually she fell asleep as soon as the nightmare left her, entering into another realm of unconsciousness where only the demons of her past could reach her.  
  
How much longer she could physically fight him, he didn't know. But he was worried. She had become extremely thin, her high cheekbones more prominent than ever. Her dark hair was limp, the curls becoming straight and lifeless.  
  
Hunter opened the door to Charlie Devane, the only one who knew where he was -- and why -- who arrived with a couple of bags of groceries in his arms. Hunter took one of the bags and Charlie wordlessly followed him into the kitchen.  
  
"You look like hell, Hunter," he observed. "What's with the wood pile? Did you cut all that?" he asked.  
  
Hunter chuckled to himself. There was enough wood cut to last his uncle the next few years.  
  
"Yeah, well I look ten times better than McCall," Hunter retorted. "Thanks, Charlie, for bringing this. I thought I'd be able to leave her and get to the store myself at some point, but . . ."  
  
"It's been harder than you thought, huh?"  
  
Hunter only nodded. It was the understatement of the century. He took a box of laundry detergent out of the bag -- thankful he remembered the brand that McCall swore by when he dictated his list to Charlie -- and ventured into the small laundry room where piles and piles were sorted on the counter and floor. One glance at the apartment-size washer and dryer told him it was going to take quite some time to get it all done.  
  
He figured underwear was the biggest necessity so he threw in a load of McCall's whites, remembering to turn the washing machine on gentle cycle.   
  
"How's she doing?" Charlie asked when Hunter returned, noticing the tall sergeant's tired eyes and prominent lines in his craggy face.  
  
"Well, I think she's over the biggest hurdles," he said confidently. "She's sleeping an awful lot right now."  
  
"Looks like you could use some, too."  
  
"Yeah. In due time."  
  
"How much longer do you think you'll be here? Not that I'm rushing you, but I just need to know so I can plan things."  
  
"At least another week. She's a mess, Charlie."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"It's gonna take me at least that long to get her healthy again. I don't want to bring her back until she's back to her normal self. Less questions that way."  
  
"Well, good luck. Tell McCall I said to get better. And get some sleep, Hunter."  
  
Hunter closed the door behind him and collapsed on the couch, where he remained all night, undisturbed.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall opened her eyes hesitantly after lying still in the serenity of wherever she was. Log walls surrounded her and sounds of birds chirping were at her ears. The bed she was lying in was soft and warm, but she was met by a late autumn chill when she cautiously pushed the covers back and sat up to greet the dawn that was just beginning to creep in through the windows.  
  
Waves of dizziness passed over her as she sat up and placed both feet on the cold wooden floor. She closed her eyes and willed it to stop as she tried to remember where in God's name she was.  
  
Flitting images of Hunter taking care of her randomly surfed her memories. She remembered being violently ill, but nothing else. She stood up slowly and breathed heavily to warn off the pain of severe muscle soreness. She felt as if she had been beaten within an inch of her life. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tight, cramped and painful. Even her insides hurt, she realized.  
  
McCall found the bathroom and was surprised to see all of her own personal toiletries sitting neatly on the counter or in her bag. She went to the sink and gasped as she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked sunken, with big, dark circles shadowing them. Her skin had an unhealthy, grey pallor to it. And it was when she put her hand up to her face that she noticed the wounds on it and her forearm, as if she had been attacked with a switchblade.  
  
Images of shattering glass and being held down against her will flooded her brain. And so did memories of Hunter's voice, murmuring softly to her at intermittent periods of time. Strangely enough, instinct told her he was near, and while she couldn't remember much, she assumed he was there with her, somewhere.   
  
The big clawfoot bathtub beckoned her, overriding her other desire to find Hunter and get her questions answered. She felt absolutely wretched, and a long, hot bath was screaming her name.   
  
She ran the water and poured her favorite bubble bath into the stream of steaming hot water. Slowly, she unwrapped her robe and pulled her nightgown over her head before sinking into the depths of the water. After a long soak, she reached for her bag and rummaged through it, thrilled to find a pink disposable razor. Judging from the growth of soft, dark hair on her legs, she figured she had been out of commission for quite some time.  
  
She felt slightly better after her bath, at least partially human anyway, and dug through her suitcase that was sitting on a small table, opened, her clothing folded neatly inside of it. The clock in the room told her it was early, barely before 7 a.m. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean turtleneck and ski sweater, thick socks and a pair of shoes. Her stomach rumbled, hunger gnawing at her insides. And from the way her jeans were falling down her hips, she figured she probably hadn't eaten in days.  
  
And as she slowly weaved her way through the small cabin, holding on to the walls for support and guidance, she found Hunter, snoring like a freight train on the couch by the fireplace. She smiled inwardly, seeing the Hunter very few knew. The man with the boyish grin and chiseled jaw, with a gentle heart covered by a hardened toughness required by the LAPD.  
  
Slowly and quietly, she boiled some water on top of the stove and poured herself a cup of steaming tea. She was also inwardly pleased with herself at finding an old coffee pot, which she filled with ice cold mountain spring water and a generous helping of coffee grounds. After she put the pot on the stove to perk, further investigation yielded a honey & oat granola bar which she grabbed along with her mug of hot tea and slipped out the front door.   
  
A brisk country morning enveloped in rising sunshine greeted her, along with piles and piles of freshly chopped wood, some neatly banked against the cabin wall and the rest in a haphazard piles. One pile in particular caught her eye, as it was sitting directly in the rising sun.   
  
***********  
  
Hunter heard the screen door open and close. He woke with a snort, realizing he had been sound asleep. He could also smell the beginnings of perked coffee. And that meant McCall was among the living.  
  
He glanced outside and saw no sign of her, but seeing the Monaco still in its place, knew she hadn't eluded him. Her seemingly restful, uneventful night's sleep told him she was on the mend. He took the opportunity to take a quick shower, and afterward donned a pair of Levis and a t-shirt, along with one of his favorite flannel shirts to ward off the morning's autumn chill. By then, the coffee was finished and after pouring himself a mug, walked out to the cabin's front porch in search of his partner.  
  
After a few glances around the property, he found her, sitting on top of the largest, neatest woodpile -- the one he was most proud of -- her face tilted toward the sun. Sunlight danced around her dark hair, bringing out auburn highlights.  
  
He walked toward her, and at hearing his footsteps, she looked down at him, a hint of a smile at her lips. "You shouldn't be sitting up there," he warned her. "If one of those pieces move, the whole pile is gonna go."  
  
"Then help me down," she ordered, sitting her mug down on piece of wood. She had realized once she had climbed to the top that getting down would be tricky. But the warmth of the sun beckoned to her, and she was happy to just sit there with her eyes closed as the sun warmed her aching body.  
  
He lifted his arms up toward her and she fell into them, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her, a most welcome feeling. But the feeling was short-lived when her knees buckled underneath her as he set her on her feet, dizziness returning with a vengeance.  
  
"Whoa, hold on," Hunter told her as he supported her. "You've had a rough few days, so take it easy."  
  
He guided her back to the porch and joined her in sitting on the steps, each one leaning on a support beam. "I must say, you are looking a little better," he said honestly. "At least your eyes are clear."  
  
McCall cleared her throat and looked at him intently. "Yeah, well, having Estee Lauder around helps," she said, a small grin creeping on her face. "God, Hunter, I feel like I've been through a war. What the hell happened? Why am I here? Why are we here?" she asked. He watched her try to straighten her legs, a pained grimace overshadowing her thin face.  
  
"Do you hurt?"  
  
She nodded her head. "My muscles just ache. They feel stiff, like I've been to boot camp, but boot camp won."  
  
"That'll go away soon. How's the rest of you? How's your stomach feeling?"  
  
He was met with a grin. "Hungry. I grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen but haven't gotten to it yet," she said, reaching into her pocket and handing it to him. She sighed and looked at him closer. He looked like he had been through the war himself. Signs of fatigue and worry showed in his face. "You still haven't answered my questions."  
  
"What do you remember?"   
  
"Pretty much nothing." She shook her dark head, squinting her eyes as she tried to recall something, anything.   
  
"Tell ya what. Come inside and sit and I'll make breakfast. How's that? And we'll talk." He stood up and reached out to her, putting his arm around her shoulders to steady her as they walked inside together.  
  
After she was seated at the small table, she watched him make breakfast as she sipped another cup of tea. "Was I in a hospital? I remember something about a hospital," she began, trying to force his hand. He was stalling, she knew. "And what happened to my hand?" she asked, looking at her mangled hand and wrist again.   
  
"You punched a hole through the door, trying to get out of here," he informed her, pointing toward the front door. He watched her gaze at it, her wide-eyed expression amusing him. "Kenny Dunston would have been impressed."  
  
"Hunter, what happened?"  
  
She heard him sigh as he cracked eggs into a pan. "What is the last thing you remember?" He watched her dart her eyes around as she mentally pushed through the cobwebs in her brain.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know if the memories are real or if I dreamed them," she said softly. And then her eyes lit up. "Sid's! I remember eating a danish at Sid's and finding a hair in it," she said, her nose crinkling in disgust.  
  
Hunter frowned at her. "That was at least a month ago. Try again. You said you remember a hospital. What do you remember?"  
  
A deep breath escaped her lips as she tried in earnest to remember. Her brow crinkled as she looked at him with new dawning. "I was in a lot of pain. I remember being held down, or someone holding on to me."  
  
"That would have been me," he acknowledged, nodding his head as he handed her a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. She nibbled at the toast as she waited for him to fill his own plate and sat down across from her. He watched her, deep in thought.   
  
"Oh my God," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Hunter looked up from his breakfast and watched as bits and pieces of the past few days' events came at her with full force.  
  
"They wouldn't give me anything for the pain." Hunter nodded his head at her again. She closed her eyes as she remembered being in horrific pain. Her breakfast remained untouched as she realized the horrors of her actions. "I remember a doctor saying I was . . . addicted," she finally said.  
  
She kept waiting for him to come to her defense, saying it was a mistake. That it was a lie. That the doctors had spoken untruths. That she had imagined it.  
  
And it never came.  
  
"Was I?" she finally demanded. "Hunter, tell me the truth."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And you . . ." she accused, pointing a finger at him. "You took me out of the hospital and brought me here, didn't you?"   
  
"Yeah. I admitted you to Rick Hunter's Hospital for Broken Cops." She watched him eat another mouthful without interrupting his eye contact with her. "You were pretty sick, McCall."  
  
She rested her forehead on her hands as she tried desperately to remember. She moaned quietly as intermittent memories floated through her head again.  
  
"I threw up a lot, huh?"  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
"And I said a lot of really awful things to you." His silence affirmed her question.   
  
"Let's just say you can curse a blue streak when you're really, really pissed off. I told myself that if your head started to spin around, I was gonna call a priest."  
  
"I don't remember much else," she admitted.   
  
"Well, that's okay. What's important is that I think you're over the worst. Now eat, will ya? Eat all of it. I have plans for you later."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
McCall's eyes were heavy with fatigue. Huddled in front of the fireplace, she remained rather quiet, Hunter observed. Her hands were tucked inside the sleeves of her oversized sweater, and she had the turtleneck up over her chin near her ears.  
  
"Cold?"   
  
"Very." She shivered and then yawned. Hunter frowned, looking at his wristwatch. It was only 10 a.m., and although she had finished the breakfast he made, she said few words, her brow wrinkled at her brain's inability to remember all the details of the past week.   
  
"Well, I've got something to warm you up," he said. He pulled her up from her sojourn at the fireplace and pushed her in the direction of the laundry room. He laughed softly at how her mouth dropped open. Her gaze shifted from end of the small room to the other, noticing the piles and piles of laundry.   
  
"You should have seen it last night . . . I've already done half, so now it's your turn," he prompted her with a shove toward the biggest pile. McCall turned around to protest, especially after seeing him grab a fishing pole from the corner of the room. "I'm going fishing," he said with a grin.   
  
Arguing with him was no longer an option, when she quickly realized the burden she had put upon him. Certainly, the man was entitled to a few hours of a favorite pasttime while she labored over the infinite amounts of laundry.  
  
McCall saw him eye her with a flicker of concern. "You gonna be okay by yourself for a few hours?"  
  
She shooed him away with a wave of her hand. "I'll be fine. Go, enjoy yourself."  
  
"I'll bring fish for dinner."  
  
Her nose crinkled. "My stomach is turning over at the thought. Ever hear of catch and release?"  
  
"Fine. Then I'll consider that your offer to make dinner," he said, grinning, and then glancing at his watch for effect. "I'll be back in a few."  
  
***************  
  
Satisfied that she had managed to get almost all of the laundry through the washing machine over the past three hours, McCall deemed herself entitled to a break. Her head was still swimming with intermittent dizziness and her stomach continued to churn at odd moments. But otherwise, her aching muscles seemed to be a little better with more movement and remarkably, she was in no other pain.  
  
But her head hurt. Not physically, but mentally. As she sorted through the piles of laundry, she tried to associate the scattered memories that she did have with the clothing she had worn the past few days. Nothing came to mind. She didn't remember packing it, wearing it, or anything for that matter.  
  
And now she had to think about dinner. Her culinary skills were modest at best -- edible, yet not worthy of an elaborate dinner party. Not that she ever had the opportunity or desire to do so. She checked out the refrigerator and the cabinets, trying to decide what Hunter would like. Cooking for a man was something hadn't done much of over the past few years. Actually, other than a few dates that she had decided were worthy of spending the time and energy to make dinner for, Hunter had been the only other one she had expended the time to do the task, and she could count on both hands the number of times she did it -- and still have fingers to spare.   
  
Her brain went into reverse as she remembered the times she and Steve cooked together . . . a task they shared in equally on the rare occasions they were together to enjoy a quiet dinner at home. Steaks on the grill or a pan of lasagna were Steve's favorites, she recalled. Tears smarted in her eyes, the pain of losing him oddly very real, as if thinking about him suddenly unlocked the door of grief that she had closed up years earlier.   
  
Her profound grief over her husband's death had waned, but today, its closeness scared her. Her eyes closed as the memory of feeling his lips on hers, his hands caressing her body, washed over her. A glowing warmth flooded through her, making her lips curve into a smile -- until it was dashed by a sudden, out-of-the-blue awareness.   
  
The memory was too fresh, too recent. It was a recollection that was being tossed around with the rest of her scattered memories, just like the latest load of laundry she had thrown into the dryer. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes as she realized that her memory was indeed real and recent -- and why.   
  
**************  
  
Hunter stretched his legs out on the big boulder as he tugged on the fishing line. Water sparkled from the stream below where his fishing line disappeared into his favorite fishing hole. Fishing was a liberating experience. Something he should do a hell of a lot more. Peace and tranquility were the common denominators that he needed to put his feelings and thoughts into their proper place.   
  
"Catch anything?" the familiar voice said behind him. He almost jumped out of his skin.   
  
"Jesus, McCall, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing down here? Are you okay?" he asked, now worried.   
  
McCall realized that perhaps trekking down the path from the cabin to Hunter's fishing spot was an invasion of his privacy. And after what she had put him through the past weeks, it became obvious that he needed to be away from her. But her need to bring closure to the events of the past few days outweighed the reality of Hunter's need for seclusion. It had become painfully clear to her why he wouldn't elaborate on her inability to remember -- and why he wouldn't fill in the blanks for her.  
  
"I need to talk to you about something." She sat down beside him, stretching her legs out in front of her as he had his own.  
  
He looked at her with a quizzical expression as he pulled his rod back and casted his line out again. "What?"  
  
"Hunter, I need to know if something I remembered was real or not."  
  
"Okay, shoot." He watched her hesitate a little, and then a faint blush crept from her neck to her cheeks.  
  
"While we've been here," she said, gesturing with both arms the wide span of forested property, "did we sleep together?"   
  
His heart beat faster. Surely, she didn't remember, did she? He figured he'd save them both the pain and go for the nonchalant response.  
  
"Sort of. The night before last, I was just so tired and the bed looked so damn comfortable that I laid down for a while while you slept." He looked sideways at her. Her dark eyes stared straight ahead. "Why? We've shared a bed before. It's no big deal."  
  
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She could usually read her partner right on. She also knew when he was feeding her a line of bullshit. And she decided that this time, it was a half of a line.  
  
She shook her head at him and rephrased the question. "By sleep together, I meant . . . did we have sex?"  
  
Hunter almost choked on his gum. He pulled his line out of the water, hooked it to the end of the rod and stood up. He reached down for McCall's arm and gently pulled her up to a standing position. He looked directly into her eyes for effect.  
  
"No. We did not have sex." He turned on his heel and began to trudge up the path back toward the cabin. He could hear her much shorter legs scrambling behind him in an attempt to catch up with him.  
  
"Hunter!" she called after him. "Wait up!" She knew that he was leaving something out. What little she remembered and what he was saying didn't seem right. She chased his long strides back to the cabin and followed him inside.  
  
"Looks like you got most of the laundry done," Hunter observed as he tried to change the topic. This was one road he did not want to travel. "So, what's for dinner? I didn't have lunch, so I'm starved."  
  
He looked at her standing before him, her face flushed from exertion. Dark lashes lowered to fan her cheeks as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back tears.   
  
"Don't change the subject. I remember being in bed with you. I remember kissing you," she said, her voice going from its normal tone down to a whisper. "I know something happened, so don't lie to me."  
  
"I'm not lying. We didn't have sex, okay? And that's the gods-honest truth."  
  
"Then what happened?" Her eyes begged him for an explanation. He grabbed a drink from the refrigerator and drank it down in an effort to give himself some time to explain. He grabbed her hand and led her outdoors.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"For a walk. Exercise in the great outdoors is good for the soul."  
  
She realized then that he was not ready to talk. He held her hand in his as they walked a nearby trail. The only sound was of birds chirping and their own feet on the dirt path, shuffling through the cornucopia of bright fallen leaves. He was careful to walk slowly, knowing she wasn't physically ready for a marathon. After a few minutes of walking, they came to a clearing. He motioned for her to sit on a fallen log, and she did so.  
  
"Listen, Dee Dee," he began. "I promise you, we did not have sex, okay?" She only nodded her head. "But we almost did."   
  
He watched her close her eyes in disbelief. Or was it relief? For a moment, he was temporarily annoyed. But he pushed his annoyance to the wayside. "Why? What do you remember?"  
  
She looked up at him, her chocolate eyes staring into his soul. "I remember kissing you. I remember you . . . holding me, touching me," she whispered, her eyes closing as she relived the memory. "I remember wanting you." Her eyes snapped open. "That's it. That's all I remember."  
  
Hunter sat down beside her. "Lookit, neither one of us was in our right minds at the time, okay? I was tired, you were out of it, and I guess I got caught up in the moment. You took the initiative . . . " he said, watching her eyes go round with that new knowledge.   
  
"No, I wouldn't do that."  
  
He chuckled. "Guess what? You did." He grinned at her and the pink flush of embarrassment at her cheeks. "You wanton woman, McCall."  
  
She cleared her throat. "Never mind that. Why did you stop?"  
  
"Because you thought I was Steve. In your mind, I was Steve. You were making love to your husband, not to me."  
  
She remained silent.  
  
"And I couldn't do it. I would have been taking advantage of you, and I just couldn't."  
  
He sounded disappointed. And she couldn't tell if that made her happy or sad.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Hunter. God, I must have been really out of it, because I wouldn't have done that to you knowingly."  
  
"Yeah, well, don't feel bad. I'm no saint, McCall. If you hadn't said his name, it would have happened." He looked at her and added a little more, a grin resurfacing. "Definitely. You'd have been hating me in the morning."  
  
Her eyes met his in disbelief. This was her best friend, her partner, her confidant. Certainly, there had been a number of times that she had wondered what it would be like to be with him, but she had quickly shoved those feelings aside.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Sure. Anything."  
  
"Were you sorry that I said Steve's name? Were you disappointed?"  
  
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, McCall. I was disappointed. Really disappointed. Remember that big pile of wood outside?" he asked.  
  
She nodded her head.  
  
"I'll have you know that there was no wood chopped when we got here. And I cut all of that myself, after I left the bed that night." He watched her stunned expression. "You frustrated the shit out of me, Dee Dee." She smiled. "But like I said, you were pretty out of it. No harm, no foul." She didn't miss the dejected tone of his voice.  
  
Suddenly, she stood up and faced him. "You know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Two things --- first, I must not have been that out of it if I remember what I do."  
  
"And second?"  
  
"Second," she said, before hesitating a moment. "I don't think I would have hated you in the morning."   
  
And with that statement, she turned on her heel and headed down the trail, back toward the cabin, leaving a stunned and shaken Hunter sitting on the log.   
  
He realized that he'd have to get a new blade for the axe, because he'd probably be chopping again very soon.   
  
******************  
  
Hunter leaned back in his chair and sighed with contentment. "Not bad, McCall. There's hope for you yet." His compliment was met with a roll of her dark eyes and a shake of her head. Her revelation a few hours earlier still had his head spinning. Thankfully, McCall kept her end of the bargain and made dinner -- which proved to be a welcomed distraction for both of them.   
  
Alas, it was spaghetti, and only required boiling of pasta and heating sauce out of a jar, not to mention throwing a few pre-fab frozen meatballs into the sauce, but it was dinner no less. It was the first time in days that he had the opportunity to sit and eat, uninterrupted, without worry.  
  
"I made dinner, so you're doing the dishes," McCall ordered, leaving the room without giving him an opportunity to protest.  
  
"You're not going to bed yet, are you?" he asked after her. He glanced at his watch and noticed the early hour. She turned around and walked back to the threshold and leaned against the door frame, crossing one leg in front of the other and folding her arms over her chest. An extra large yawn almost broke her in two.  
  
"I'm tired, Hunter. Gimme a break."  
  
He thought a moment. While he certainly would enjoy her company this evening, he realized she was still in the recovery process. And tomorrow, she'd need her rest. He had plans.  
  
"Well, I suppose you're right. Sleep tight. You're entering Hunter Boot Camp tomorrow."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm going to guess that you don't remember what next week is." The slight shake of her head confirmed it. "Next week we have our aptitude tests, remember?" Required by the LAPD every few years, the city of Los Angeles made sure every single officer was physically and mentally fit by putting its public servants through a battery of tests to ensure they were still capable of kicking serious ass.  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and forced away the tears. "I can't believe I forgot about that." He didn't miss the dejected slump of her shoulders.   
  
The required course to test physical fitness worried her. Push-ups, chin-ups, strength endurance and running tests were only a few of the day's ordeals. She had always passed with flying colors. Her petite frame was stronger than it looked, and she had been in fabulous shape . . . before the shooting, anyway. And now that she was as thin as a reed and weakened more than she had ever thought possible, she knew it was a lost cause. The tears smarted in her eyes.  
  
"Don't worry, you'll pass." His blue eyes screamed reassurance at her. "Have faith."  
  
He watched her shuffle to the bedroom. It was only 7 p.m. But tomorrow, she'd need her rest. He already had a plan.  
  
******************  
  
A piercing whistle made McCall sit straight up in the bed. It scared the living daylights out of her, and her eyes snapped open to pitch blackness -- except for the shining flashlight blinding her eyes.   
  
"On your feet, Sergeant."  
  
McCall flopped back down on the bed and covered her head with the pillow. She peeked out from underneath and saw the numbers on the bedside clock glowing, reading 5:30 a.m. She groaned and slid further down underneath the covers. "Go away, Hunter."  
  
"Hunter Boot Camp starts right now. Up and at 'em." He pulled the covers off of her and pushed her off the bed, where she fell into a heap onto the floor.   
  
She glared at him now that her eyes adjusted to the darkness, realizing he was dead serious. Her partner was clad in sweatpants, sweatshirt, athetic shoes and a baseball cap, a coach's whistle hanging around his neck over his navy blue LAPD windbreaker. "I hate you, Hunter!"  
  
"That's not the first time you've told me that this week and I know it won't be the last. Get your skinny ass moving," he ordered.  
  
Dark eyes glittered at him through the darkness. "My ass, as you put it, isn't skinny."  
  
"I'll be the judge of that." He threw a pair of sweatpants and a shirt at her. "But we're gonna fix that, too. You've got five minutes."  
  
********************  
  
Hunter grinned as he heard McCall's feet pounding the pavement about a hundred yards behind him. They had been at a steady jog down the crushed stone driveway that eventually lead down the country road. Every once in a while, he'd hear her curse at him under her breath.  
  
"Pick up the pace, McCall," he ordered, blowing his coach's whistle at her in an effort to annoy her even more. He slowed down the pace a little and let her catch up to him, her breathing shallow and labored.   
  
"You . . . are . . . evil," she said as she tried to catch her breath. She gratefully accepted the bottle of water he had clutched in his hand.  
  
"And you're out of shape. Now get your ass moving, because I'm not losing my partner because she can't pass the physical. I've got too much invested in you." He chuckled as she cursed him again.   
  
**********************  
  
McCall was wiped out. She was lying flat on the grass in front of the cabin, face-up to the afternoon autumn sunshine beating down on her. They had jogged four miles that morning. Her legs felt like giant rubber bands. Hunter prepared a huge breakfast -- which he insisted she swallow every morsel -- and after an hour of rest, had taken her near the river to a big rock pile. First, he made her break up the largest rocks with a sledgehammer that seemed to weigh a ton, and then she found herself throwing the huge pieces of broken boulder into the river below.  
  
"We're working on your upper body development," he told her as he sat in the shade nearby, chomping on a toothpick.   
  
His chuckle annoyed her. "Upper body development my ass," she retorted under her breath. The rocks were huge -- and heavy. And she didn't miss the fact that he was eyeing her lecherously. In the past, she would dismiss his looks, but now . . . she secretly hoped he was enjoying watching her as much as she was enjoying being watched.  
  
"Let me guess, you never played softball. You throw like a girl." She drew her arm back, rock in hand, as if she was going to throw the rock at him instead of the river. "Go ahead," he dared. "You won't hit me," he teased.   
  
McCall gathered her fury and used it to hurl the rock further than any other, the resulting splash music to her ears. She had gotten the target. She turned her head and flashed Hunter a dazzling smile. "Gotcha, Big Guy."  
  
But he remained a thorn in her side. And now she lay supine in the tall grass, enjoying the sun's warmth radiating on her aching limbs. The sound of him hammering away at something made her nervous. She knew he wasn't done torturing her yet. But inwardly, her heart overflowed at the knowledge of his genuine concern for her, and how much he had sacrificed to save her. And how much he was willing to go through to make her whole again.  
  
Hunter smiled when he was finished. The steel bar he found in the woodshed was now successfully wedged between two large limbs of the oak tree. He jumped a few inches off the ground and grabbed the bar, testing it by pulling himself up and down with about 20 chin-ups. It supported his weight easily, and pleased with that knowledge, he turned and searched for McCall.  
  
He caught his breath as she trudged in his direction, realizing she had become warm enough in the unseasonably warm autumn afternoon to shed her sweatshirt and t-shirt, wearing only cotton shorts and a spandex midriff top. While McCall had often teased him about his penchant for tall, big-busted blondes, Hunter secretly knew that the women he dated were in a distant second place from McCall's standing in his book.  
  
But his thoughts were interrupted as she came closer to him, and he saw how worn her body looked. He could see a faint outline of her ribcage through her pale skin, her thin shoulders and arms looking as fragile as matchsticks. Her hip bones jutted out just above the elastic of her shorts, which he noticed were now rolled at the top to keep them from falling down. He had his work cut out for him, and a short window of opportunity in which to do it.  
  
"Okay, McCall, let's see what ya got," he said, pushing her in front of him. His large hands spanned her naked waist, and he easily lifted her up and watched her grasp the bar. He quickly turned and faced her from the other side of the bar, watching her hold on to it for dear life, her body hanging limply in the air.   
  
McCall felt like her arms were going to pop right out of her sockets. Her face tilted up toward the trees, and she mustered all of her strength. She had to do it . . . for him. She just couldn't let him down any more.   
  
Hunter watched her biceps and abdominal muscles tighten as she slowly pulled herself up. He smiled at her determination.  
  
"That's one," he called. "Four more to go."  
  
She gasped.  
  
"Come on McCall, you females have it easy. You only have to do five to pass, I have to do 25."  
  
She managed two more before she lost her grip and fell to the forest floor, landing flat on her ass. Tears smarted in her eyes but she willed them to stop. A large hand grasped hers and pulled her to a standing position. A large hand grasped hers and pulled her to a standing position. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her gently with encouragement.  
  
"You can do this. We've got time. You're doing better than I had anticipated."   
  
She stopped walking and looked at him. "I don't know if I should thank you or take a swing at you."  
  
"You should definitely thank me . . . but I'll wait until the end of the week so you're in shape enough to do it properly." He grinned at her, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief.  
  
She thought about it a minute. "Okay. You're on. But be careful what you wish for because you just might get it." And she grinned back at him.   
  
****************  
  
Banana smoothies. The frosty drink made of crushed ice, mashed bananas, yogurt, soy protein, milk and only God knew what else Hunter threw in it -- was McCall's source of the biggest weight gain she had ever seen in her life. Four concoctions a day topped off with huge meals put about ten pounds on her thin frame in six days. Even she didn't think it was possible.  
  
She looked at herself in the mirror. Gone was the sunken hollowness in her face. Her skin, while it had always been on the pale side, had a healthy glow to it. And it was all thanks to Hunter and his amazing, unending drive to "kick her ass back into shape."  
  
And that, he did.  
  
McCall had never worked so hard in her life, and she had never slept so well. Or felt so good, either. After the initial muscle soreness went away, she suddenly felt energized, and full of life. Perhaps it was the mountain air. Perhaps it was, according to Hunter, having all of those horrible toxins flushed from her body, combined of course, with his banana smoothies. Or just being away from the fast-paced life of being one of the city's public servants.  
  
All she knew was that in 24 hours, it was all going to be over.  
  
*****************  
  
Hunter watched McCall dawdle over dinner. It was already 7 p.m., and the steak he had grilled was almost gone. Hers medium-well, his rare. She was quiet and subdued, unconsciously stabbing the pieces of angus beef that she hadn't finished which were lying haphazardly on her plate like a piece of art gone wrong.  
  
"What time do you want to leave tomorrow?" he asked. Her dark eyes met his, and he detected a hint of sadness in them.  
  
"I don't know if I want to leave," she finally admitted.  
  
"Huh? Am I hearing you correctly? I didn't think you were the outdoors type of girl."  
  
She leaned back in her chair, and after crossing her arms over her chest, looked around the cabin with new interest. "Well, maybe I am. Maybe I always was, and didn't know it until now."  
  
"Do you have a fever or something? I'm talking the comforts of home, McCall. Your own bed, a hot water tank all to yourself, a microwave."  
  
"Well, yes, I do miss those things," she said wistfully. "But I've kind of gotten used to being here."  
  
And then he heard her continue with a whisper. "Just you and me."  
  
A lump rose to his throat. He had used the excuse of reconditioning McCall as a means of refocusing them both to the task at hand, and away from their "encounter" the week the before. But it was obvious to him now that it was weighing as heavily on her mind as it was his.  
  
Every night as he slept on the couch, he had to practically handcuff himself to the furniture to keep himself from stalking into the only bedroom in the cabin and taking her into his arms while collapsing into the bed -- together. But it seemed way too caveman-like, even for him. She deserved much better. And who knew if she even wanted it?  
  
McCall abruptly stood up and began to clear the table, waving him into the living room as she took her turn to clean up. The evening was bringing with it a mountain chill, so Hunter made a fire in the fireplace. Soon, the noise in the kitchen waned, and he realized that she had gone to bed without even saying good night.  
  
------------------  
  
McCall tossed and turned. She had tried to read a book for quite some time, but realized she had been reading the first and second graphs of page 143 for over an hour. And she had no idea what she had read.   
  
A hot bath after that did nothing at all to ease her tension. Or was it frustration? Or fear?  
  
She swore to herself that if midnight came before her eyelids closed on the day, she'd stomp out into the living room and tell him exactly what she thought.  
  
And now it was 12:01. It was time to make it or break it.  
  
----------------------  
  
"As I look into your eyes I see the sunrise  
  
The light behind your face helps me realize  
  
Will we sleep and sometimes love until the moon shines?  
  
Maybe the next time I'll be yours and maybe you'll be mine.  
  
I don't know if it's even in your mind at all  
  
It could be me  
  
At this moment in time  
  
Is it in your mind at all  
  
It should be me, it could be me  
  
Forever"  
  
---- Simply Red  
  
Hunter woke with a start. A vision in ivory was kneeling beside the couch where he lay dozing. Was it a dream? He blinked his eyes, and then his fingers strayed to feel the soft silk of her nightgown. It sure felt real.   
  
And then she spoke, her voice barely a whisper, like the voice of an angel.  
  
"Rick?"  
  
"Yeah?" He watched her try to say the words, her lower lip trembling just a fraction. "Come here, you're shivering." He put his arm around her and pulled her onto the couch, turning onto his side to make room, holding her tightly so that they were now facing each other, chest to chest. The comforting feeling of her palms resting on his chest made his heart and mind race.  
  
For the time being, they lay there as friends. But Hunter refused to lay odds on how long that would last.   
  
As McCall relaxed in his embrace, she welcomed the warm feeling of feeling safe and secure there, now fully understanding why had had gone to great lengths to save her.  
  
"I'll never, ever be able to thank you for everything you did for me," she said, finally breaking the silence. "You have always been there for me."  
  
Hunter thought a moment, unconsciously pulling her tighter. "There's no need for thanks, Dee Dee. That's what friends do. That's just how it is."  
  
He heard her swallow.  
  
"I have to know . . . did you mean it last week when you said you were disappointed? That I thought you were Steve? Are we really just friends?"  
  
Hunter looked into her eyes, the firelight dancing in them. Her face was only inches from his own, her hand now slipped into his where it rested on her hip, grasping it tightly.  
  
His mind raced. Surely, she knew, didn't she? Suddenly, he knew he had to tell her. To not tell her would be the same as telling a lie.   
  
"First, I want you to know that we'll always be friends. No matter what happens, whether our relationship changes or not." He felt her tense up.  
  
"What's second?" she asked.  
  
"Second, to answer your question, yes, I meant every word. I was disappointed."   
  
He watched her close her eyes for a moment, and he could practically see her thought processes, the wheels silently turning in her head. And then they opened, a mixed bag of emotions now reflected on her face.  
  
"So, I guess the real question is, now what?"  
  
He was unprepared for that question. But her dark eyes begged him for an answer.  
  
"Well, before I answer that, I have to ask you a question." He watched her nod her head slightly, so he proceeded. "Some time ago, you and I had a conversation about being cops, and you said that you'd never be with another cop." He watched her open her mouth to say something and he put a finger to lips to stop her. "I need to know if you still feel that way. I'll always be a cop, Dee Dee. I can't change what I am."  
  
"Part of grief is changing how you live your life," she finally explained. "And even though I lost Steve, over the years, I realized that I can't ban cops from my life forever . . . that's all I know."  
  
"All I know is that it's hell being attracted to and then falling in love with your best friend," he said, and he kissed her lightly on her temple. "I am so afraid of screwing up our relationship, and losing you forever. I don't know if I can give you everything you want, and God knows you deserve it."  
  
"Are you saying you don't want the same things I do?" she asked.   
  
"I know you want a real family, with the kids and the dog and picket fence. And I don't know if I can give you that."  
  
She sobered for a moment. "You never know. You might change your mind."  
  
"And I might not change my mind. Can you live with that? Will you hate me later?"  
  
She thought for a while, and then slowly grinned at him. "Yes. I can live with that. And I could never hate you. You're what's most important to me right now. If it was meant to be, then it will all fall into place. I really believe that."  
  
"You have no idea how glad I am that you said that."  
  
"Really? Why?"  
  
"Because it will make what I'm about to do so much sweeter." 


End file.
